


Draco Malfoy's Worst Christmas Ever (It's All Harry Potter's Fault)

by coffeejunkii



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Draco wanted for Christmas was a quiet holiday. But then Harry Potter caught Dragon Pox, Severus Snape's portrait needed a temporary caretaker, and Narcissa Malfoy decided that she would no longer put up with Lucius' newfound love of flobberworms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco Malfoy's Worst Christmas Ever (It's All Harry Potter's Fault)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for amightypenguin as part of the 2010 round of H/D Holidays in LiveJournal. Many thanks to my betas, rurounihime and lusiology.
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Finally_ , Draco thought as he sat down in his favourite armchair with a perfectly brewed cup of Earl Grey. Finally a brief respite from brats with sniffly noses, the never-ending Quidditch injuries, and the latest consequences of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Skiving Snackboxes (Tenth Anniversary Edition).

For the next ten days, Draco would not be Healer-on-endless-call for all of Hogwarts. Instead, he could devote himself to a bit of potions research (the accelerated Skelegrow was almost ready for testing on volunteers, aka the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team), try out his new Firebolt 3000 (still unopened in its package since Draco had owl-ordered it in October), and perhaps even indulge in the latest _Wizards in Love_ novel (generously sent to him by his mum, who had most likely read the book before sending it on to him, but Draco tried to repress his mother's occasional fondness of Wizard-on-Wizard fiction to the best of his abilities).

Draco stretched out his legs and watched the ottoman dutifully waddle over to prop up his feet. With a sigh, Draco sank deeper into the cushions. Taking a sip of tea, he wondered if he might indulge in a nap. He was usually too busy to nap, but now that nothing and no one stood in his way—

The door to the hospital wing creaked open.

 _Please let it just be the wind._

"Mr Malfoy?" Minerva's voice rang out.

 _No. Absolutely not_.

"Come on in, I'm quite sure he's here," Minerva said to whoever was with her.

Of course it was just Draco's luck that out of the handful of students who had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the winter hols, one would get sick.

"Mr Malfoy!"

It was best not to irritate Minerva, so Draco set his cup aside, left his beloved armchair behind, and grabbed his robes off the hook next to his office door.

"Pardon me, Minerva, I was—" Draco fell silent when he spotted Harry Bloody Potter next to Minerva. Of course. If there was one person in the entire universe who could ruin Draco's holiday with utmost certainty, it was Potter.

"It's entirely unnecessary for me to be here," Potter began, pushing his glasses up his nose in a rather agitated fashion. "But Minerva insisted."

That statement earned Potter a prim look from Minerva, in response to which he looked like a bashful First-Year and stared down at his scuffed trainers. "Mr Potter passed out on his way to the gates, and he can count himself lucky that I promised Hagrid to check on his Horklumps while he spends Christmas at Beauxbatons. Otherwise, he might have frozen to death."

Draco drew himself up to his full height. "Why don't I do a quick scan and see if there is anything wrong with Potter? And I'm sure there isn't anything wrong aside from a lack of sleep and a diet that has recently consisted mostly of Treacle Tart."

Potter's head snapped up. Before he had a chance to inquire about Draco's obviously spot-on diagnosis of his recent behaviour, Draco added, "I know everything that happens at this school, at least as far as the health of staff and students is concerned. Now if you'd sit down." Draco motioned at the closest bed.

Potter hesitantly sat down. "If you have some Pepper-Up, I'll be out of your way."

There was nothing Draco wanted more, but he couldn't suppress an authoritative "We'll see about that." He was about start a standard Class One diagnostic charm when a small red spot on Potter's cheek caught his attention. "Hmm." Draco peered closer.

"Hmm, what?" Potter asked, drawing back.

"Hold still." Draco's eyes fell on another, smaller spot on Potter's jaw (a rather well-defined jaw). And there was another one just below Potter's ear. And another one on his neck.

Draco straightened. Why was nothing involving Potter ever easy?

"What—is there—something's wrong?"

Draco glanced out the window for a moment, feeling as if he could actually see all his holiday plans vanish right through the glass.

Minerva had been waiting by the door, but now stepped closer. "Mr Malfoy?"

"Potter, as a child, have you ever had Dragon Pox?"

Potter shook his head.

Just as Draco had feared. "Well, in that case, I believe you've caught it now."

"Oh." Potter frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I can't be entirely sure until I run a few more tests, but those red spots are a dead giveaway." Draco replied. "Besides, there were a few cases in Ravenclaw about a week ago. I thought we'd sent them home quickly enough to avoid more infections, but apparently not."

Potter was picking at some invisible piece of lint on his jeans. "I was helping Clara Hobwhiffle with her _Expelliarmus_. You know how she's been struggling with it in Dueling Club. I might've noticed that she wasn't feeling well, but I thought it was just a cold."

"Yes, Clara was among those who came down with Dragon Pox." Draco turned to Minerva. "I'll take it from here."

Minerva nodded at Draco. "Very well. I have some last-minute arrangements before the elves begin to clear my office for the renovations. I'm afraid it is too late to find another place for Severus' portrait, so I'll have it sent over to the hospital wing as we discussed."

"Of course," Draco replied.

"You're moving Snape's portrait? In here?" Potter sounded alarmed.

Minerva nodded. "For the duration of the winter holidays, yes. I'm sure you recall that the Headmistress' office will be renovated. We discussed it at the last staff meeting."

"Ummm." Potter avoided Minerva's gaze. "Yes."

Draco suppressed a snicker. Potter was notoriously absent-minded during all meetings and had probably not heard a word of the entire discussion. "Please tell the elves to hang the portrait over the mantel in my office. I wouldn't want any....altercations between my patient and the former Headmaster."

"Thanks," Potter mumbled.

Minerva nodded and took her leave.

"I suppose you won't let me go back to my quarters," Potter observed.

"I cannot believe I'm about to say this, but I would indeed prefer you remain nearby. Dragon Pox in adult wizards and witches is an extremely volatile illness. You may feel fine now, but, as your fainting indicated, that can change at any moment." Draco's thoughts strayed to his grandfather Abraxas for a moment.

Potter sighed. "All right. Is there a Floo connection in your office? I was on my way to Ron and Hermione's when...well. I should let them know I won't be there for Christmas." Potter sounded as if his pet Puffskein had succumbed to an untimely death.

"Well, Potter, if it's any consolation, your holiday plans aren't the only ones that have been ruined."

"Sorry. I know you'd been looking forward to a few days off."

Draco blinked.

Potter had the indecency to smile at him. "You've been a bit irritated recently. Or rather more irritated than usual. During the last Gryff-Slyth match, you nearly grounded the Gryff Seeker for merely looking at a Slyth Beater the wrong way."

Since when did Potter notice Draco's moods? "Well, he would have deserved it."

"You're just upset that Gavin Spitbimble is the far superior Seeker."

Potter knew he was on dangerous grounds with that statement. They'd nearly hexed one another over this question a few weeks ago. Spitbimble was the superior Seeker, of course, but Draco would take that admission to his grave. "You'd do well not to antagonize the person who has access to the potions that will help to make your next few days as comfortable as possible."

"Of course, Healer Malfoy," Potter responded, biting back a smile. "Hopefully, I'll get over it quickly. Maybe we can still keep our New Year's plans."

Draco didn't want to dash Potter's hopes. "Maybe. For now, have one of the elves gather a few things from your quarters that you might need to keep you from dying of boredom, and I'll make sure I have a vast supply of anti-itching potion."

+++

The first day after Potter's diagnosis passed by without other disruptions to Draco's routine. Two house-elves delivered Severus' portrait in the morning, but Draco hadn't seen Severus since the elves finished fixing the portrait to Draco's mantel (Draco suspected that Severus enjoyed roaming the school via other portraits now that the halls were quiet and free of students). Potter continued to feel fine despite the increasing number of red spots on his face and arms. Draco even allowed Potter a walk on the grounds after he had agreed to a tracking spell that would notify Draco if Potter passed out again. All in all, it had been a pleasant day, and Draco even had some time to start reading the latest _Wizards in Love_.

When Draco heard the door to the hospital wing opening, he shuffled his novel under a few copies of _Healing Potions_ and went to greet Potter.

"I don't feel well," Potter mumbled.

Considering the distinctly green tint to Potter's skin and the fact that his spots had about doubled in size since Draco had last seen him, the decline in Potter's well-being wasn't a surprise. "Well, it was only a matter of time. Sit. Do you feel hot?"

Potter nodded.

"I thought so. I'll be right back."

Draco headed back to his office and approached the cage that sat on a small table next to the window. "Toby, I have a job for you." The little lizard blinked up at Draco and hopped onto his hand once the cage door opened.

Draco wasn't too fond of newfangled inventions such as thermometers, and preferred the tried and true methods of magical healing. For that reason, one of his first purchases after taking over from Poppy Pomfrey had been that of a magic chameleon trained at _Institut für Magische Heilkunde_ in Zurich.

Potter eyed Toby suspiciously.

Draco was used to the odd looks, especially from the Muggle-born students and even the occasional Pureblood (for shame). "Toby is an expertly trained service animal and will only do what he's told," he recited.

"And what would that be?" Potter asked.

"Take your temperature, of course." Draco sat Toby down on Potter's shoulder.

"How—" Potter let out a shriek when Toby's tongue darted out to lick across his cheek. "Next time, how about a warning?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought that would have been apparent. How else would he measure your temperature?" Draco watched as Toby turned a deep orange color. Well, that wasn't too alarming. Yet.

Potter rubbed his cheek. "I don't know, but being licked wasn't what I imagined."

Draco's mind conjured up some disturbing and entirely inappropriate images, which he quickly shoved into a box labelled "desperate times" in a far corner of his brain. "Well, now you know." Draco plucked Toby off of Potter's shoulder and carefully placed him into his pocket. "You've got a fever, but not a very high one. That will probably change, so I'll bring Toby round for another check in a few hours."

"Okay." Potter was still rubbing his cheek, but with much more intent than before.

"The more you scratch, the more they will itch."

Potter had moved on to his neck, where a whole row of spots seemed to have sprung up in just the past few minutes. "Feels good, though."

"It might feel good now, but trust me, it won't in a few hours." Draco tapped his wand against Potter's wrist.

When Potter tried to rake his nails against his skin, his fingers pushed against an invisible barrier about an inch away from his neck. "Hey!"

"It's for your own good. Be glad that I'm not giving you the mittens I usually give to students. I'll fetch some salve for you. It'll numb most of the itching."

Potter tried to rub his shoulder against the side of his face, to no avail. "Most of it?"

"Dragon Pox is tricky. I'm afraid there's nothing that can fully suppress its effects." Draco took Potter by the shoulders and gently pushed him down on the bed. "A nap would do you some good. I can give you Dreamless Sleep if you think that'll help."

"It won't," Potter replied quietly. "It's no use for me."

Draco sensed that there was more to his words than Potter let on. He was aware that Potter struggled with insomnia, but as he had never approached Draco for help, the insomnia clearly fell under Things They Didn't Discuss (a lengthy list that included their school days and the war).

"All right. I'll have the salve and some fever-reducing potion ready for you in a few minutes, which should make you more comfortable. Once they take effect, I suspect you'll be exhausted enough to sleep regardless."

"I hope you're right." Potter kicked off his trainers and curled up on his side.

Out of habit, Draco reached for the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and tucked it around Potter's shoulders.

Potter smiled. "Thanks."

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold on top of the Pox," Draco muttered, but allowed his hands to linger on the blanket for an extra moment.

+++

"Well, well, wasn't that charming," Severus greeted Draco when he returned to his office.

"Good afternoon, Severus."

"I had heard that Potter unwisely chose to fall ill for the holidays." Severus was tinkering in the laboratory that had been painted into the left half of his rather large portrait. "Do let me know if I can be of assistance. I know you have an...investment in Potter."

Draco wasn't ready to engage in a round of verbal sparring about Potter. Sometimes Draco wondered who exactly between the two of them had this so-called investment considering that discussing Potter was one of Severus' favourite pastimes. "In his well-being, yes. As a patient."

"Delusion does not suit you, Draco."

"I am not deluded about Potter," Draco replied brusquely. He quickly placed Toby back into his cage and pocketed a jar of salve. Now where was that sodding fever-reducing potion?

"Top shelf, right hand side, next to the Murtlap essence," Severus supplied with such certainty that Draco wondered if he'd retained his Legilimency skills after death.

Draco scanned the shelf, and, much to his dismay, discovered that Severus was right. "How did you know I was looking for this potion?"

"Your voices carry. It was difficult not to overhear your exchange with Potter."

Draco grasped the potion. On his way out the door, he retorted, "Healer-patient confidentiality extends to portraits as well. No more eavesdropping."

+++

Potter's fever remained manageable throughout the night. At dawn, Draco's clock chimed urgently, both hands pointing to "More Potions Needed." The clock—a gift from the faculty at the _Institut für Magische Heilkunde_ to congratulate Draco on his top marks upon finishing his Healer training—had spared Draco many a night on a dingy cot in his office, allowing him to sleep in his own bed instead (he Flooed from his quarters to his office when the clock was particularly insistent). As Potter wasn't in any mortal peril, however, and Draco detested getting soot on his robes, he set off for the trek through the castle. Draco decided that it was unlikely he would encounter anyone at this hour and merely pulled on a robe over his pyjamas. Used to shuffling through the corridors when half-asleep, especially during exam weeks when everyone seemed to get sick, Draco expertly wove around hurrying house-elves and the occasional ghost.

Potter didn't even notice Draco's presence, caught between sleep and the fever, but willingly drank down the potion. Draco lingered a few minutes to reassure himself that Potter was resting before setting off in the direction of his quarters again.

He had just turned the corner to his private hallway when Minerva's Patronus caught up with him.

"Mr Malfoy, your mother is waiting in the entry hall," the tabby informed him. "With a house-elf. And four trunks."

"Er. Thanks. I'll be right there," Draco replied.

The tabby bounded off.

What in Merlin's name was his mother doing at Hogwarts? At dawn? Had he missed an owl informing him of last-minute changes to their Christmas plans? Draco was quite certain that last missive he had received from his mother three days ago had only included a reminder to be punctual (as if Draco was ever late to any social function) and to please pick up mince pies in Diagon Alley on his way over to the Manor.

Draco took a few short cuts and jumped from one moving staircase to another, suddenly worried that his mother came bearing news she didn't want to relay via owl or Floo.

"Draco, darling," his mother greeted him, "I am ever so sorry to impose on you like this, but your father—the Mahagony desk—the damask— "

"Did anything happen to him?"

"Not in any physical sense, but..." Narcissa grasped Draco's shoulders. "I'm afraid he has finally lost his mind over those disgusting worms."

Draco's father's passion for training flobberworms was an ongoing point of contention between his parents, but up until now his mother had agreed with Draco that it was better for Lucius to obsess over flobberworms than Death Eater reenactments.

"Maybe we can discuss this in my quarters," Draco said slowly. He turned to the elf that had come along from the Manor. "Nimbly, why don't you take my mother's trunks to my quarters? And change the sheets and add another blanket to the bed."

The elf nodded and disappeared with the small stack of leather trunks.

"Thank you, Draco. It really has been a distressing few days and this last night—well. I'll tell you when we have some tea."

"Of course, Mother."

+++

A few hours later Draco sat in his office trying to finish up some Christmas correspondence, but finding himself too distracted by the events that had occurred at home and by Potter's chatter in the next room (he had taken to Toby, and Toby to him, the utter traitor).

Aware that his mother was occasionally prone to snap judgments, especially when it came to anything related to the Manor's interior design, Draco had expected that whatever furniture-related mishap his father had caused wasn't quite as severe has his mother perceived it to be, but he had to agree that settling a new colony of flobberworms under the Christmas tree was indeed going a bit too far.

It was just as well—between Potter and Severus, Draco's Christmas had already taken on a somewhat unhinged air, and having his mother at Hogwarts for the next few days might actually be an improvement. Feeling reassured, he turned back to his owl to Pansy.

+++

"How are you feeling?" Draco's eyes roamed over Potter's body, taking in his green-tinted skin dotted with red spots.

"The same. The itching is much better, thanks. That salve is wonderful," Potter replied. The sincerity in his voice tingled across Draco's skin.

"I'm glad to hear that," Draco observed in his most professional voice. "Toby, temperature, please."

The small lizard stretched up from his comfortable perch on Potter's shoulder and licked across his neck. Potter giggled in response.

Draco frowned when Toby's skin transformed into purple with green polka dots. "Again, Toby." This time, orange and white stripes appeared all over the lizard.

"Oh! I taught him that!" Potter sounded very pleased. He picked Toby up and petted his head. "Such a good little lizard."

Draco pinched his nose and cursed under his breath.

"Erm, is something wrong?"

Draco counted to three and told himself that it wouldn't do his career any good if he casually murdered the Saviour of the Wizarding World. "Nothing much at all, aside from the fact that you managed to completely throw off Toby's colour calibration. If I'm lucky, I can re-calibrate him myself. It is more likely, however, that I'll have to send him to Zurich for re-training."

"Oh." Potter looked properly apologetic, and even Toby's head drooped. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise that I was distracting him from his work."

"Well, lesson learned and all that." Draco held his outstretched hand toward Toby, who dutifully climbed into his palm.

"I truly am sorry. I suppose I enjoyed having someone to talk to." Potter fussed with his blanket.

"Right." Draco rarely felt uncertain about making conversation, but there was something about Potter that threw him off-kilter with remarkable ease.

Potter looked up at Draco with a startlingly honest expression of longing. Draco blinked and glanced away, but found his gaze drawn back. He wasn't even certain that the longing was directed at him specifically or if it was a more universal desire for companionship, but perhaps that didn't matter. Being the focus of Potter's unflinching attention, especially in a moment in which he depended on Draco for his well-being, was too much.

Draco turned on his heel, mumbled something about "cage" and "Toby", and fled to his office.

Severus shook his head at Draco, which Draco ignored. He placed Toby in his cage and spent the next hour going through the recalibration manual with utmost concentration and focus. Draco was pleased with the spellwork that set the recalibration in motion; the initial tests were promising and suggested Toby would be ready for work again the next morning.

Feeling much more in control of himself, Draco returned to Potter's bedside, only to discover that he had fallen asleep. "Probably for the better," Draco said quietly. He placed the back of his hand against Potter's forehead. Warmer than it should be, but not hot. Acceptable under the circumstances. He brushed his fingers through Potter's fringe and ignored the tight twisting inside of him.

+++

"Draco, dear, I've been thinking," Narcissa said just as Nimbly served their pudding.

 _Here we go_ , Draco thought. There had been a gleam in his mother's eyes throughout dinner. "Regarding what?" he asked politely.

"Harry Potter, of course."

Brilliant. Draco should have known. "What about Potter?"

"You should see this as a chance, Draco. Harry has your full attention right now, he's under your care, he needs you—"

"Mother, Potter is a patient just like any of my other patients." Inwardly, Draco cursed the evening two years ago when he unwisely indulged in Firewhiskey in his mother's presence and divulged a few things that, in retrospect, he should have kept to himself.

"It really isn't very polite to lie to your mother when the circumstances don't call for it, darling. I was merely suggesting that you might use this time to get to know Harry better. Who knows, this may lead to some very good things." Narcissa took a bite of trifle. "If the society section of the _Prophet_ is to be believed, Harry is currently unattached."

Draco knew very well what the _Prophet_ , and _Witch Weekly_ , for that matter, had to say about Potter's love life. Namely very little since the scandalous revelation that Potter had been caught snogging a male Muggle in a club in London. Draco had always thought that it wasn't entirely a coincidence that Potter had started teaching at Hogwarts the following year.

Draco made an affirmative noise in response to his mother's observation and hoped his feigned disinterest might persuade her to move on to another topic.

"You would probably know better than the papers if Harry is seeing someone, wouldn't you?" Narcissa observed casually.

"I'm not sure what makes you think that," Draco replied. He was on thin ice here; his mother was clearly aiming for something in particular, but as long as Draco didn't know what her goal was, he ran the risk of getting tangled in her rhetorical trap.

"Well, you both live and work at Hogwarts, so you see more of Potter than any reporter. You also share a number of responsibilities, which in turn means you spend time together on a regular basis." Narcissa set aside her spoon.

"We do work together occasionally—"

"A bit more frequently than that, I would say. Don't you supervise Hogsmeade weekends together? And lead the Duelling Club? And volunteer as referees for the Slytherin-Gryffindor matches?"

Draco slowly felt the trap close around him. "We do."

Narcissa leaned forward. "And has Harry ever given you any indication that he doesn't enjoy spending time with you?"

Time to stop beating around the bush. "What are you trying to suggest, Mother?"

"Perhaps you ought to consider that Potter doesn't only volunteer for all these tasks out of the goodness of his Gryffindor heart, but that he also takes them on because it means he can be around you." Narcissa patted the back of Draco's hand for emphasis.

"I think you're vastly underestimating the Hufflepuff streak in Potter's Gryffindorishness," Draco said pointedly and withdrew his hand from his mother's grasp.

Narcissa sighed. "Darling, all I'm trying to say is that you should open your eyes to the very obvious possibilities around you."

Draco stabbed his trifle. "I will keep your advice in mind."

"Good." Narcissa leaned back in her chair. "Is Harry well enough to join the Christmas festivities in the Great Hall tomorrow morning?"

"It probably wouldn't set him back, but I don't want to risk any other infections. Potter will have to stay in the hospital wing." Draco saw a frown forming on his mother's face. "But don't worry, the elves are already spoiling him with treats at all hours."

Narcissa shook her head. "How terribly lonely! Draco, that is unacceptable. We'll move our little party to Harry's bedside and exchange presents there."

Her tone didn't leave room for negotiations. "I'm sure Harry will be thrilled," Draco replied, resigning himself to the most embarrassing Christmas morning of his entire life. Whatever miniscule hope Draco had harboured of one day, perhaps, moving beyond the merely collegial friendliness between himself and Potter would be utterly dashed.

"You can tell him the news when you check on him before bed." Narcissa pushed back her chair and stood. "Please excuse me, but Nimbly and I have a lot to plan before tomorrow."

The elf popped up beside Narcissa, clutching a small sheet of parchment and a quill. Draco didn't hear more than "We'll need a tree, of course," before his mother and her elf disappeared into Draco's bedroom. For a moment, Draco considered eavesdropping, but then decided against it. He'd rather not know what awaited him in the morning.

+++

A faint groan from the adjacent room was enough to wake Draco. Being a light sleeper was an advantage as a Healer; he often woke up to take care of emergencies even before a patient's monitoring charms or his clock could alert him.

Draco pushed himself off the small cot and reached for his robes. Severus was snoring in his chair, clearly undisturbed by the sounds filtering in from the other room.

Potter probably needed a glass of water or perhaps some more anti-itching salve. The monitoring charms would have alerted Draco to anything more severe. But when he reached Potter's bed, he stopped still, unprepared for the sight in front of him.

Potter lay on his side, drenched in sweat, arms tightly clasped around his chest. The edges of his sheets were singed and half of the bedside table was black with soot. A quick check revealed that the monitoring charms had been disabled.

"You stupid, stubborn, self-sacrificing, utter Gryffindor," Draco cursed as he moved toward Potter.

Potter tried to respond, but instead of words, a small puff of smoke curled out of his mouth. It was obvious that it was difficult for him to breathe deeply.

"Don't talk." Draco pushed sheets and blankets off the bed. Potter whimpered. "You're cold, I know. But you won't be warm again until we've got you out of these wet clothes."

Potter's shivering subsided a little after Draco cast a warming charm. He helped Potter to sit up and pull off his T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Potter tried to speak again, clearly struggling for breath. Before Draco could admonish him, Potter began gulping for air.

"Oh, no, no—" Draco barely managed to duck when Potter coughed up a small ball of fire. The flames licked over the back of Draco's neck, singing a few strands of hair. At any other moment, Draco would have been furious, but he barely noticed. " _Accio_ condensed Yak milk!"

The bottle zoomed toward Draco at a dangerous speed, but gently landed on the bedside table. "All right, Potter, this won't taste good, but I promise it'll help. Your throat must feel like Hungarian Horntail set it on fire."

Potter groaned, which Draco took as an affirmation of the state of his throat. He helped him with guiding the small green bottle to his mouth and kept it there even when Potter tried to pull away after the first taste.

"You need to drink of all it, I'm afraid." He watched Potter slowly swallow the potion. "There, all done. Better?"

"Yes," Potter whispered.

"Disabling my monitoring charms was a bloody stupid thing to do. Those are in place for a reason. Such as, for example, when you try to burn your insides by spewing fireballs!"

Potter slumped forward. "Didn't want to bother you."

How completely and utterly infuriating. "If you hadn't noticed, it's my job to be bothered when it comes to my patients. For how long have you been coughing fire?"

"A few hours." Potter wiped a shaky hand across his face.

"Merlin." Draco hoped Potter's lungs hadn't been damaged in the process. He'd have to transfer Potter to St. Mungo's right away if the smoke had got that far. "Let's move to another bed. This one's a lost cause."

Potter leaned heavily on Draco for the three steps it took to get to the neighbouring bed. Draco helped him under the covers. At least Potter seemed more relaxed now. His breathing was still shallow, but certainly not as laboured as before.

"All right, I need to check your lungs. This might feel a bit odd." Draco laid his palm flat on Potter's chest and closed his eyes.

Under normal circumstances, he would use a diagnostic spell, but he worried that a spell might not be precise enough. Using elementary magic was riskier, but would also provide a clear result. He breathed deeply and allowed his magic to flow through Potter.

Draco had only been one of a handful of trainees who studied elementary magic. It required utmost concentration, perfect control over one's own magic, and, usually, a lengthy preparation to ensure the patient's body wouldn't reject the influx of the Healer's magic. Especially in weak patients, such a rejection could lead to seizures. Draco hoped that crafting spells and trading wands with Potter during their Dueling Club was enough to familiarize his magic to Potter.

Draco directed the flow of his magic downward, toward Potter's lungs. Feelers of energy spread out, searching for any damage. There wasn't any. He carefully called his magic back, dizzy with the power flowing back into his body. He could feel Potter in the crackle and unevenness of the magic, similar to whenever Draco used Potter's wand. He allowed his hand to rest on Potter for a few more moments, feeling his heart beat steadily.

His eyes flew open when he felt fingers close around the back of his hand.

"And?" Harry asked. "Find anything?"

Draco shook his head. "All clear. You're lucky."

Harry squeezed his hand. "I am."

+++

Draco helped Potter into new pyjamas (which Potter had summoned from his quarters, wandlessly, of course, the show-off) and administered more fever-reducing potions. Even after Potter had fallen into a light doze and showed no further signs of spewing fireballs, Draco found himself loathe to leave. Potter had sworn he wouldn't disable the monitoring charms again, and yet. Something kept Draco hovering near Potter's bed.

He walked over to one of the tall windows, watching the snow fall. There had been no sign of impending snow earlier in the evening, but now the grounds and trees were already dusted with white. It would be nice to have snow for Christmas; if Draco had gone to the Manor as planned, he would have been lucky to see a stray flurry. Maybe not all was lost where Christmas was concerned.

"Draco?"

He turned toward Potter. "I thought you were asleep."

"'m not tired." The yawn that followed belied Potter's words.

"Right. Not tired at all," Draco teased.

"Maybe a little. Can you—can you do that thing again? That you did earlier. With your magic."

Draco returned to Potter's bedside and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "I was testing your lungs for damage. It's not necessary to repeat that."

Potter looked steadily back at Draco. "I know. But. It felt...good. As if..." He trailed off. "Would it be bad if you did it again?"

The request surprised Draco. Patients usually felt odd after a magical scan and were glad to be done with it. But considering that Potter's magic wasn't hostile toward Draco, there weren't any side-effects Draco could think of. There wasn't any real reason to deny Potter's request, but Draco nevertheless hesitated in his response.

He obviously had dithered for too long because Potter spoke up again. "If it's too difficult or if it violates some sort of ethics code, then never mind. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"No, it's not that," Draco replied hastily.

"But?"

Draco didn't have an answer for that. No, that wasn't true. He was hesitating because allowing his magic to flow through Potter's body without the specific purpose of healing veered close to a degree of intimacy that Draco wasn't entirely comfortable with. Or perhaps he was too comfortable with it and that was the problem.

"Nothing but," Draco said decisively. "It'll make you feel better, won't it?"

Potter nodded.

"Well, then."

Draco closed his eyes. As he had done earlier, he placed his hand flat on Potter's chest. He was about to allow his magic to reach out when Potter laid his hand over Draco's.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

Draco's inner balance was thrown while he got used to the warmth of Potter's fingers. "Fine," he replied.

He took a few steadying breaths until he felt in complete control over his magic and then slowly let go. His fingertips tingled as energy flowed through them. Draco didn't push as deep as before; his magic ran right under Potter's skin. He could tell that this had an effect on Potter. Draco might not have done this as part of a diagnosis, but the Healer side of his brain still registered the deepening of Potter's breathing. Draco let his magic swirl without much direction, only making sure to have enough of a hold on it to be able to call it back into himself.

Draco hadn't motioned it back yet when something grazed against his palm. It took him a moment to realise it was Potter's magic. This shouldn't be possible. Being able to direct one's magic in such precise ways took much training; it had taken Draco months to learn only the basics. But considering this was Potter, all bets were off.

Potter's magic wove gently yet insistently around Draco's fingers. It wouldn't get past Draco's barriers unless he lowered them. He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. This was uncharted territory and he knew well enough not to experiment with elementary magic. And yet. Draco could sense a warmth in Potter's magic that enthralled him. He wondered what it would feel like if it flowed freely through him.

As if Potter had sensed Draco's doubts, he squeezed his hand.

Draco hesitated for another moment before dropping his barriers. Potter's magic rushed through his hand and up his arm, much faster than any Healer would ever allow on a patient. Draco steadied the rush as best as he could and felt it quiet down, settling into an ebb and flow.

Draco understood why Potter had asked for this again. The serenity that took hold of Draco brought a lightness of being with it that he had rarely experienced before. He could feel echoes of it in Potter and he turned his hand to clasp it closely with Potter's.

It was difficult to tell how long they stayed that way, magic flowing back and forth between them, but eventually, the warmth slowly receded from Draco's body and he felt his own energy return. Even after their magic had completely separated, they remained still for a little while longer. Draco was grateful to be able to sit and gather himself. He felt shaky and uncertain about his ability to speak.

A hand came to rest on Draco's arm. "Hey," Potter whispered.

Draco slowly opened his eyes. "Hello," he managed.

Potter smiled. "Thank you."

Draco nodded. "Was it—did it feel like that before?"

"Not quite." Potter blinked; it seemed as if he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. "Does this always happen?"

Draco shook his head. "No." He laughed softly. "You can add it to the long list of things that make Harry Potter special." That wasn't quite what Draco had meant to say, but his mind was too fuzzy to correct it.

Potter's smile broadened. "Hmmm, I will."

+++

"Draco, dear, it's time to wake up."

It couldn't possibly be morning yet. Draco refused to believe it. "Too early, Mum," he mumbled and burrowed deeper into his warm pillow.

"But don't you want to find out what Father Christmas has brought you?"

"Not yet." Draco was quite content to wait for his presents until sometime closer to noon, preferably.

"Darling, don't you remember Christmas morning when you were seven and your bed turned to ice when you refused to get up? I remember that charm quite well."

Draco's pillow chuckled. Even in his dazed state of mind Draco realised that his pillow shouldn't be able to make any noise. He opened his eyes and looked at a broad chest covered with Snitch pyjamas.

"Good morning," Potter said. From right next to Draco.

Draco realised three things in quick succession. One, he had fallen asleep in Potter's bed. Two, he was _still_ in Potter's bed. And three, his mother was standing right next to said bed.

Draco sat up too fast and nearly toppled onto the floor, but a strong arm caught him around the waist and pulled him back onto the mattress.

"Careful now." Potter looked very amused by Draco's plight.

Draco scooted away from Potter and tried to corral his brain into a suitable response to this utterly mortifying situation.

"There's no need to be bashful, Draco," Narcissa said. "We're all adults here, after all."

"Mother, it's not what you think. Potter and I—"

Potter interrupted. "After spending the night with me, you could call me Harry."

Draco gaped at him. "Spending the night?"

"Boys!" Narcissa admonished. "I do not need the sordid details even though I am certain they were quite pleasurable. Maybe we should start with a present each before we have a bite to eat?"

Draco realised that all protest would be futile. For the moment, it would be best to forget the fact that his mother thought he and Potter were shagging and to focus on presents and food. And alcohol. Merlin let there be something fizzy and strong in Draco's near future.

As Narcissa _Accio_ 'ed two boxes—one red and one green—Draco took a look around. His mother looked beautiful in light blue silk robes with a white fur trim, her hair swept away from her face into an elegant knot. The hospital wing was barely recognisable as such—most of the beds had disappeared, and in their place stood a tall Christmas tree with dozens of fairies in its branches. A heap of presents was spread out under the tree. Plates of food and a familiar decanter sat on a nearby table.

"Go on, then," Narcissa encouraged when the boxes landed in front of Draco and Potter.

"For me?" Potter asked.

Narcissa nodded. "Of course. Did you think Father Christmas forgot about you?"

Potter ducked his head and mumbled, "Thank you."

Endeared by Potter's bashfulness, Draco was tempted to pet his hair. To thwart his idle hands, he picked up his wand and unwrapped his present. Potter was tearing into the paper with his fingers, once again forgetting that he was a wizard.

The opened boxes revealed identical dressing gowns made out of thick soft wool. They were monogrammed with _DLM_ and _HJP_ , respectively.

"Thank you, Mother, these are gorgeous." Draco flung back the covers and stood to kiss his mother on the cheek.

"Yes, thank you," Potter added. "I've never had such a fancy dressing gown."

Narcissa waved him off. "It's far from fancy. Just something warm to wear around your quarters during this dreadful winter."

Potter got out of bed, too, and tried on the gown. "Oh, does it have a warming charm?"

"It does. I have one woven into all of Draco's winter robes. This castle's weather charms haven't been properly maintained for centuries, after all."

Draco ignored the potential embarrassment stemming from the implication that his mother still bought all of his clothes (she did have impeccable taste and loads of free time, after all). He slipped into his own dressing gown and immediately noticed the difference in temperature. The robes must have cost a small fortune, but it was probably best not to let Potter know about that.

"Well, now that the pair of you are almost properly dressed, shall we move on to the rest of the presents?" Narcissa motioned in the direction of the tree.

"I'd like something to drink first," Draco said, eying the crystal decanter. It was most likely a bad idea to have alcohol on an empty stomach, but he couldn't imagine how that could make any difference considering that Christmas had already gone off the rails.

"Nimbly, three glasses of bucks fizz," Narcissa ordered.

"I don't think I should..." Potter looked at Draco.

"Tea for Potter," Draco said to the elf, who was currently struggling with the decanter.

"That's the largest jug I've ever seen in my life," Potter observed.

"It's not a jug," Draco and his mother said simultaneously.

"Pardon?" Potter looked confused.

"I'll have you know it's a crystal decanter from Waterford's Wizarding line," Draco pointed out. "Hand-carved by Norwegian elves."

"A family heirloom," Narcissa added.

"Uh, sorry. I wasn't, umm, aware that there was crystal made by Norwegian elves."

Narcissa and Draco shared a look. _Much work to be done_ , his mother's raised eyebrow said. _Raised by Muggles,_ Draco's frown countered.

Nimbly pushed between them, offering a tray with two glasses.

"Thank you," Narcissa said.

Draco took his glass with an acknowledging nod and sipped. Light on the orange juice and heavy on the champagne. Thank Merlin his mother was reliable when it came to alcohol.

+++

"And here are the last two." Narcissa pushed two more presents into Potter and Draco's direction.

Considering that they were sitting among small mountains of wrapping paper, it was hard to believe that there was more to unwrap. Draco was used to a generous amount of presents, but his mother had outdone herself this year. There had been splendid new robes from Paris, a new fur hat with matching gloves, a set of potions ingredients that had Severus' help written all over them, and some old Healing manuals that Draco had discovered in Flourish and Blotts' antiquarian section when he'd last visited the shop with his mother.

When Potter noticed that Narcissa had arranged for his presents from the Weasleys and his friends to be sent to Hogwarts, he'd been rather moved. Both Draco and his mother had tactfully ignored him wiping at his eyes.

The last two presents had rolls of parchment tied to them. When Draco unfolded the one meant for him, he smiled. _To Uncle Draco_ , it read on top, _A Happy Christmas from Teddy_. The drawing below the greeting showed the Manor covered in snow, with animated peacocks strutting across the grounds.

Potter leaned into Draco to look over his shoulder. "Teddy's quite good, isn't he?"

Draco's entire side tingled and he found himself leaning closer to Potter. "Quite, yes."

"Here's the one I got." Potter placed the parchment in Draco's lap, brushing his knee in the process.

The drawing featured Potter zooming about the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in his referee uniform. "Teddy was clearly impressed by the game he saw," Potter observed.

"I remember how excited he was," Draco affirmed.

When he looked up, he found his mother studying Potter and himself with fondness. Draco's chest tightened with both worry and longing; worry that his mother was misinterpreting the situation and would end up being disappointed when nothing ever came to pass between Potter and himself, and longing for another chance to feel as close to Potter as he had the previous night.

"C'mon, let's unwrap these now," Potter said and tore into his last present.

Draco wasn't prepared for what lay beneath the silver paper. "Geoffrey," he whispered and lifted a small stuffed elephant into his arms.

Narcissa patted his shoulder. "Nimbly found him when she was looking for more Christmas decorations in the attic. He was in quite a state, but fortunately, we were able to mend him."

Draco's throat burned and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to have three glasses of bucks fizz because he felt utterly out of control.

"Who is Geoffrey?" Potter asked softly. His hand came to rest low on Draco's back.

When Draco opened his eyes, he saw the world through a watery haze. He quickly dabbed his sleeves into the corners of his eyes. "He is—" His voice wobbled dangerously. Potter's hand swept up and down his back. "He used to be my favourite childhood toy."

"We thought he was lost," Narcissa said. "Draco was devastated when Geoffrey went missing. When Nimbly found him, I knew Draco would want him back."

Draco didn't have the energy to protest the idea that he might still want a stuffed animal. Any objection would probably have been moot considering he was clutching Geoffrey to his chest.

"I would have wanted him back, too," Potter murmured. He petted Geoffrey's head and then wiggled his ears.

Draco laughed. "You're ridiculous."

Potter nudged his shoulder against Draco. "Likewise," he said with a smile.

Draco set Geoffrey aside. "Well, let's see what's hidden in your present."

Potter pushed the last sheet of paper aside to reveal _Wizards in Love VI: The Eternal Love of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor_.

"Ummm." Potter's cheeks took on a pink tinge.

Draco felt a similar flush climb up his neck. "Mother, is that your doing?"

"Well, I thought Harry might get bored lying in bed all day, and you were so enthralled by the novel that I thought he might enjoy it, too."

"You've read this?" Potter asked.

As denial was impossible, Draco replied, "I do enjoy a bit of mindless fiction now and then. As does my mother."

Narcissa ignored him, suddenly very busy banishing wrapping paper.

Potter flipped through the pages. "I do have the time, and I'm feeling better, so I'll give this a try. Better than the books Hermione gave to me."

Draco glanced at the stack of books next to Potter. Most of them had titles such as _A New and Expanded Hogwarts, A History_ and _Old English Runes Revealed!_. "I'd say."

"Well, Father Christmas certainly was generous this year. I feel positively famished after opening everything." Narcissa gestured for Nimbly. "Mince pies for you boys?"

+++

When Potter's eyelids began to droop, Draco ordered him back to bed for a lie-down. He seemed to be on the mend, but Draco wasn't willing to take any risks. He left Geoffrey at the foot of Potter's bed and set monitoring charms to alert him of any change in Potter's vitals.

Draco accompanied his mother on a walk around the snowy grounds, dutifully listening to lengthy updates on various friends and acquaintances. He only paid close attention when Andromeda and Teddy's names came up; apparently, they had spoken to Narcissa via Floo the night before. Draco had wondered how his mother had got a hold of the drawings. Perhaps Teddy could visit Hogwarts once Potter had fully recovered. He would certainly enjoy the snow.

Draco and his mother were in the middle of Christmas dinner in the Great Hall when Percival, the Malfoy family owl, swooped toward the staff table and dropped a letter into Narcissa's lap.

"Well, this is a surprise." Narcissa picked up the parchment.

Draco watched his mother as she read. "Christmas wishes?"

"Yes, and—" Narcissa fell silent until she had finished reading. "Well, your father has always been one for grand gestures. He apologised for his worm obsession and promised to move all of them to the dungeons. And he has finally given in to my request of purchasing a villa in Tuscany."

Draco had to admit that his father was an expert at grovelling. "That sounds lovely."

"Doesn't it?" Narcissa sighed. "I've been telling your father for years that we should invest in a winter home in a warmer climate." She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and then stood up. "I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, but your father managed to arrange for a Portkey to Siena this evening."

Draco stood as well. "Of course." He had looked forward to spending the remainder of the day in her company, but he tried not to let his disappointment show. "I hope you find a lovely house."

"I will owl you as soon as we do."

Draco watched his mother leave the Great Hall, and wondered if he could come up with an excuse to spend the evening in Potter's company.

+++

As it turned out, Draco didn't need an excuse. Potter brightened as soon as Draco stepped through the hospital wing door and practically begged him to stay. Apparently, Potter didn't consider a book as satisfying a companion as Draco did.

They played chess and Exploding Snap while the Wireless played Christmas songs. It was a lovely evening (and wasn't that a strange thought considering Christmas had seemed doomed only a few days ago?).

It was late when Draco finally decided to return to his quarters.

Potter reached for his hand. "Hold on for a moment."

Tingling spread through Draco's skin. He felt it every time Potter had touched him (which was more often than had been strictly necessary). "Yes?"

"I know habits are hard to break," Potter began. "But it would mean a lot to me if you called me Harry."

Draco's heart beat a little faster. "All right. Harry."

+++

"I'm bored," Harry announced the following morning when Draco came to check on him. "Can't I go back to my quarters, at least?"

"We'll see about that. It certainly seems as if you're on the mend, but I'd rather not risk your health." Draco pulled Toby out of his pocket and placed him in Harry's palm.

Harry smiled. "Hello, Toby. How are you?"

Harry's excitement was utterly endearing (Draco cringed at the thought; fifty points from Slytherin for turning into a Hufflepuff). "Go on, Toby."

Toby dutifully licked Harry's wrist and turned a light violet. Slightly above normal temperature.

"So?" Harry asked as he scratched his nails over Toby's skin, much to the little lizard's obvious enjoyment.

"You've still got a bit of a fever. I'm not quite ready to let you go." Draco pushed up the sleeves of Harry's pyjamas to get a closer look at his spots. They were starting to scab over; another good sign.

"But, Draco! Wouldn't I be fine with one of your monitoring charms on me?"

Harry sounded like a Second-Year trying to whinge his way into a Hogsmeade weekend. "No. You're staying here where I can have an eye on you to make sure you won't exert yourself." Draco picked Toby up.

Harry huffed. "And what am I supposed to do all day?"

"Read. You certainly have at least one very enticing book." _That I'd be very grateful to be able to read again for the first time_. Draco ignored Harry's glare and retreated to his office. Perhaps he was a bit harsh on Harry, but after hearing many stories about his grandfather's untimely Dragon-Pox-related death, Draco wasn't going to take any chances.

+++

"This doesn't make any sense," Draco muttered to himself as he closed yet another book on elementary magic.

He had decided to read up on the consequences of using elementary magic in healing to find out more about the tingling he felt whenever he touched Harry. At first Draco had written it off as a figment of his overactive imagination, but it was too persistent to be an illusion. Moreover, he was certain Harry felt it, too. But none of his books on healing spells and charms mentioned anything like what they'd experienced.

"Is something the matter?" Severus inquired. He stood at the very edge of his portrait in an obvious attempt to get a better view of the books on Draco's desk.

Draco wondered whether or not he ought to tell Severus. He'd be subjected to a few biting remarks, but he'd probably receive some helpful information in exchange. He explained what had happened two nights ago in the most professional and disinterested way possible. Severus paced back and forth without any indication of what was going on in his mind.

"I suggest that you shift your attention toward the use of elementary magic in bonding spells and rituals," Severus finally said. " _Bonding Magicke, 5th edition_ , preferably. The library should have it."

"Bonding?" Draco's hands felt clammy.

"Yes, Draco. Not to worry—you have not inadvertently stumbled into a bond with Potter." He paused. "Yet."

"I'm not following." Or perhaps Draco didn't want to follow.

Severus looked put upon. "Elementary magic has its own sense, Draco. It doesn't care for human thoughts or attachments. Surely your and Potter's relationship has been volatile enough to generate plenty of energy to appeal to elementary forces. Add an encouraging spell, and, well. You've laid the foundation for a bond."

Draco practically fell into his chair. A possible bond. With Harry. The prospect far exceeded the admission of attraction they'd been dancing around.

"Of course this initial stage wouldn't have been possible were it not for the painfully obvious infatuation between you and Potter." Severus looked as if he'd just realised he'd only eat vomit-flavoured Bertie Botts for the rest of his life.

"We're not—"

"Draco Malfoy, do not insult either your or my intelligence."

Draco barely held back the "Yes, Professor" that was on the tip of his tongue and focused on the books strewn about his desk to avoid the icy glare directed at him. When he looked up, Severus had left his frame.

Draco was glad for the _Muffliato_ he'd cast on his office earlier (Harry had predictably fallen asleep after lunch). He wasn't quite ready to share the news. At least not before he had done further research to determine what sort of connection elementary magic had forged between them.

+++

Twenty-four hours later, Draco had dispatched Harry from the hospital wing (mostly because his fever had disappeared entirely, but also because Draco felt unsure about how Harry would react to the almost-but-not-really bond between them). He had also spent more time in the library than he had since his return to Hogwarts. All the books he had consulted suggested the same thing: an undirected flow of elementary magic between two compatible magical beings could result in establishing a connection between their core energy. This connection could lie dormant or could develop further, all depending on how much the participants nourished it.

Draco took a sip of camomile tea to calm his nerves. Tea probably couldn't reverse the feeling of losing all control over the direction of his life, but it was nice to pretend.

A knock on the door shattered the illusion of calm.

Draco opened the door to find Harry almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Here I am, as requested. As you can see, I'm still alive."

It took Draco a moment to remember that he'd ordered Harry to stop by his quarters after dinner for a brief check-up. "Yes, indeed. Come in."

Draco quickly went through the motions of ascertaining that Harry wouldn't have a relapse during the night.

"You seem distracted," Harry observed.

"Just tired." Draco studied the numbers that glowed over Harry's head. Everything was nearly back to normal. Two or three more days and Harry would be completely fine.

"Hopefully you aren't getting sick now."

It was meant as a tease, but Draco didn't feel like bantering with Harry. "I'm immune to Dragon Pox."

Harry frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Draco retorted. He twirled his wand between his fingers and avoided Harry's searching gaze.

"I thought we could play chess." Harry sat down on the sofa.

The nerve! Draco was tempted to throw Harry out for completely misinterpreting social cues. But he also didn't want Harry to leave. Most of all he wanted to crawl into his bed and forget all about elementary magic and bonds and People Who Ruined Everything.

Harry sighed. "Draco, c'mon, sit. I know I'm not good at all this," he was gesturing between them, "but I also know you're upset about something."

Draco stiffly walked over to the sofa and sat. Harry immediately scooted closer to him. "Did you hear from your parents?"

"They're fine." Ignoring his Slytherin instincts to extricate himself from the situation with his dignity intact, Draco laid his hand over Harry's. The familiar tingle crawled up his arm. "Do you feel that?"

"Yeah. I've noticed it before. D'you know what it is?"

Draco nodded. His heart was in his throat. "Side effect from using elementary magic."

Harry laid his other hand on top of Draco's. "Bad side effect?"

"Depends." Draco looked down at their entwined fingers. Now that he knew what was happening, he could feel a faint pulse of magic between them. "It's the foundation of a bond."

Harry gasped. "A bond?"

"I'm afraid so. I could explain it to you in all its technical details, but the short version is that by allowing elementary magic to run freely between us we invited it to explore the possibility of tying our magical cores to one another. Apparently, that invitation was accepted."

"What happens now?" Harry sounded rather calm considering the news he had received.

"That's up to us. We can ignore the connection, or—"

"Or?"

Was that a spark of hope in Harry's eyes? "Or we can strengthen it," Draco whispered.

Harry's hands closed more firmly around Draco's. "What do you want to do?"

It wasn't so much a question of what Draco wanted; rather, he was concerned about what he didn't want. He didn't want either of them to make a rash decision they would only regret later on. He didn't want to confuse a magical connection with an emotional one—the former was nothing without the latter. Most of all, he didn't want to settle on anything in the spur of a moment.

"I think I'd like some time to think about all of this," Draco said slowly. He expected to see disappointment on Harry's face—ever the impulsive Gryffindor, he'd probably prefer to jump into the fray and deal with the consequences later.

Instead, he found understanding in Harry's eyes. "It's quite a bit to take in, isn't it?"

Draco felt some of the tension between them melt away. "Understatement."

"Did you know that this could happen?"

"Not a clue." Draco leaned back into the cushions.

Harry mirrored his pose. Their fingers remained loosely entwined. For a few minutes, they were both content to stare into the fire on Draco's hearth. It was perhaps the most comfortable Draco had ever felt in Harry's presence. They spent a considerable amount of time together—his mother had been right about that—but it was always as members of the staff and in the presence of students. Even when they had a moment to themselves to talk about something more personal, Draco had always felt aware that students might overhear or need them at any moment. This was different and Draco thought he might get used to having Harry around.

Harry broke the silence. "Would it be all right if I went to Ron and Hermione's for a few days? I'm not contagious anymore, am I?"

Draco squashed the little voice inside his mind that suggested that Harry obviously needed some distance. After all, he'd been the one to propose that they took some time to think about the quasi-bond. "That would be fine. But—hold on." Draco fetched an acorn carved out of wood from a box on his mantel. "Portkey to St. Mungo's, just in case."

Harry took it from Draco. "Thank you." He turned to leave, but then halted and drew Draco into a tight embrace. "I'll owl you."

Draco felt the pulse between them spike. "All right."

Lips brushed against his jaw as Harry let go of him. With a nod, he let himself out.

+++

If Draco slept curled around Geoffrey that night, well, nobody would ever know.

+++

Late on New Year's Eve, a knock on the door to his quarters startled Draco out of his maudlin end-of-year thoughts. Much to his surprise, it was Harry. A few blankets and a basket bopped in the air behind him.

"Hi," he said with a hesitant smile.

Draco returned the smile. "I see you've returned."

"Umm, yeah. I, er, I was wondering if—if you'd like to see the fireworks with me?" There was a hint of pink on Harry's cheeks that definitely wasn't due to the draft in the castle.

Despite Harry's ungraceful way of asking him, Draco felt like a swooning Fifth-Year on his first date (and didn't care one bit that he did). He only cared that after some rather intense owling over the past few days, Harry had come back because he wanted to start the new year with Draco. "I usually don't accept last-minute dates, but I think I could make an exception this time."

Harry positively beamed at him in response.

+++

The snow crunched underneath their feet and their breath puffed in front of them, barely illuminated by their wands. The world was still and dark around them as they made their way toward Hogsmeade.

"This way." Harry motioned to a vast field of white to their right. "Better view." He took Draco's hand. "The ground can be unsteady."

It amused Draco that Harry felt the need to come up with an excuse to hold his hand. "I'll be careful."

Hogsmeade slowly came into view as they made their way across the field. Draco had to admit that it was a rather good view, much better than if they'd gone all the way into town. Harry stopped next to an outcropping of rocks—"To lean against," he explained—and cast a warming charm. The snow in front of the rocks melted. Draco blasted the soggy brown grass underneath until it was dry enough to spread out the blanket. When he leaned back against the rocks, they felt warm, too.

Draco nodded. "Nice work."

Harry sat down on the blanket. "Figured we wouldn't want to freeze our arses off. I'd add a bubble charm to keep out the wind but it would distort the view."

"In that case, we'll have to keep each other warm," Draco replied as he lowered himself to the blanket.

"Hmm, such hardship." Harry wiggled closer until they touched from shoulder to ankle.

Draco cast _Tempus_ to keep track of time (they still had almost a good hour before midnight) and they shared the mulled cider and shortbread Harry had brought. Both were very good and Draco wondered if they came from Molly Weasley's kitchen.

Once they finished the shortbread, Draco stretched out his legs and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. He watched the minutes to midnight tick down and decided that he liked this quiet side of Harry. He usually seemed to have boundless energy, but perhaps that was part of how he related to his students (who all had too much energy for Draco's taste).

Harry fidgeted with his cup, turning it round and round in his hands. "Getting restless?" Draco asked.

"Gathering my nerve."

Not the answer Draco had expected. "Is that so?"

Harry set down his cup. He turned more fully toward Draco, leaning into him. "I want to try," he whispered into Draco's hair.

"Try what?" The magic between them sparked, providing more than enough of an answer to Draco, but he wanted to hear Harry say it.

"Strengthening the bond. See where it might lead." Harry's voice wavered a bit.

Draco needed to be certain that Harry knew what he was in for. "It won't happen overnight, you realise."

"I know. Hermione explained it all to me. Er. I hope you don't mind that—"

"Granger probably took one look at you and you spilled your guts."

Harry let out a shaky laugh. "Um. Yeah. I think she was more thrilled about the research opportunity than me—well, me finally having found someone."

Draco had always thought that 'taking one's breath' away was an overrated figure of speech, but he felt rather lightheaded after Harry's admission.

"Draco?"

As Gryffindorish declarations weren't Draco's style, he did the next best thing—he kissed Harry. Or tried to. Their noses bumped and Harry's glasses dug into Draco's cheek. They broke apart, laughing and rubbing various hurting spots on their faces.

"Let's try this again." Draco plucked Harry's spectacles off his nose, folded them, and carefully placed them in his pocket.

Harry's lips felt cold for a moment, but warmed up quickly, especially after Draco swept his tongue over them. As their kiss deepened, the ever-present tingle turned into a steady pulse that swept back and forth between them. Harry's magic was bright and clear; it folded itself around Draco's core.

When bursts of colour exploded into the sky, they drew apart, but remained close.

"Happy New Year," Harry murmured, his lips moving against Draco's jaw.

Draco touched his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth, his cheek, his temple. "May it bring only good things."

"Only the best," Harry affirmed.

A fervent hope bloomed in Draco, and he kissed Harry again.

 

 _end._


End file.
